The Crow was nonplussed. Had not her husband,
then, told her, what every one else knew? Upon
what terms could they possibly be? And before
he was aware of it, he had blurted out, “Good
Lord!”

Then, recollecting himself, he said,

“Why, yes. Tristram will say I have been
frightening you. It is not so very bad, after
all—­only to smile and look gracious and
shake hands. They will be all ready to think
you perfect, if you do that. Even though there
are a lot of beastly radicals about, Old England still
bows down to a beautiful woman!”

Zara did not answer. She had heard about her
beauty in most European languages, since she was sixteen.
It was the last thing which mattered, she thought.

Then the Crow turned the conversation, as they walked
on to the next stand.

Did she know that Lady Ethelrida had commanded that
all the ladies were to get up impromptu fancy dresses
for to-night, her birthday dinner, and all the men
would be in hunt coats? he asked. Large parties
were coming from the only two other big houses near,
and they would dance afterward in the picture gallery.
“A wonderful new band that came out in London
this season is coming down,” he ended with; and,
then, as she replied she had heard, he asked her what
she intended to be. “It must be something
with your hair down—­you must give us the
treat of that.”

“I have left it all to Lady Ethelrida and my
sisters-in-law,” she said. “We are
going to contrive things the whole afternoon, after
lunch.”

Tristram came up behind them then, and the Crow stopped.

“I was telling your wife she must give us the
pleasure of seeing her hair down, to-night, for the
Tomfools’ dinner, but I can’t get a promise
from her. We will have to appeal to you to exert
your lordly authority. Can’t be deprived
of a treat like that!”

“I am afraid I have no influence or authority,”
Tristram answered shortly, for with a sudden pang
he thought of the only time he had seen the glorious
beauty of it, her hair, spread like a cloak around
her, as she had turned and ordered him out of her
room at Dover. She remembered the circumstance,
too, and it hurt her equally, so that they walked
along silently, staring in front of them, and each
suffering pain; when, if they had had a grain of sense,
they would have looked into each other’s eyes,
read the truth, and soon been in each other’s
arms. But they had not yet “dree’d
their weird.” And Fate, who mocks at fools,
would not yet let them be.

So the clouds gathered overhead, as in their hearts,
and it came on to pour with rain; and the ladies made
a hurried rush to the house.

The hostess did not stand near Francis Markrute during
the shooting. Some shy pleasure made her avoid
him for the moment. She wanted to hug the remembrance
of her great joy of the morning, and the knowledge
that to-morrow, Sunday, after lunch, would bring her
a like pleasure. And for the time being there
was the delight of thinking over what he had said,
the subtlety of his gift, and the manner of its giving.